


hear me (please forgive me)

by justromandaydreams



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Daniel is soft with Charles, Dubious Consent, Idk what this is really, M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, please don't yell at me, these boys need help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justromandaydreams/pseuds/justromandaydreams
Summary: Charles was used to leaving with blue and purple souvenirs hidden under layers of clothing. But this was different.





	1. Chapter 1

Charles just wanted to leave Suzuka. He and Daniel were catching a late flight back to Monaco. The weekend had been an emotional roller-coaster from start to finish for them both.

But first he needed to go see Max. His not-really ex-boyfriend but more than friends with benefits. Charles wasn’t really sure what they were.

He really hadn’t meant to collide with Max. The start had been chaotic with Sebastian’s jump start. They’d had some scraps in the past, but this was the first one that resulted in one of them DNF. So yeah, Charles felt bad. He wanted to explain and to apologize. Which is why he was standing outside Max’s hotel room door.

“Max?” Charles gave a short couple knocks. “Can we talk? I wanted to—"

The door swung open, bouncing off the wall. Before he could say anything, Max yanked him into the room. He had Charles pinned to the wall in the blink of an eye, one arm braced across the Ferrari drivers throat.

“I think I deserve an apology, don’t you?” Max had been seething for the last hour or so. Yet again his race was ruined before he even completed one lap.

Charles couldn’t do anything but nod, Max’s arm crushing his windpipe. He’d had a feeling Max hadn’t calmed down at all and now his suspicions were confirmed. “Look Max, I didn’t mean to-”

Max tried to control the rage boiling up within him but hearing Charles try to explain away the Turn 1 incident made him seethe. Before he realized what he was doing, he drew back his hand, and hit Charles across the face. Hard.

The sound echoed in the empty room. The force of the blow sent the Ferrari driver crumpling to the ground. Max got a sick sort of satisfaction seeing his rival at his feet. Charles, with his doe eyes and pouty lips staring up at him—it went straight to his dick.

“I think I like you better on your knees” Max hissed.

Charles looked up at him through watery eyes, clutching his cheek with one hand. This was not he’d been expecting. A heated argument maybe. Not this. He and Max had done it rough plenty of times before. But Max hadn’t ever hit him. Not like that. It kind of scared Charles. But it was only fair, really. Max didn’t get a chance to fight back on track so Charles would let him do it now.

Max grabbed a handful of Charles hair and yanked him up “Now about that apology.” He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with one hand, still grasping Charles’ hair with the other.

“I’m not s-” Charles appeared to be about to protest and Max didn’t want to hear it. As soon as the Monegasque opened his mouth Max shoved him down, not stopping even after Charles gagged. This wasn’t about Charles’ comfort. He knew it. And Charles knew it too.

Their relationship was complicated sometimes they goofed around and played FIFA. Maybe an occasional make out session in-between matches. Other times it was rough, edging on violent. Charles always leaving with blue and purple souvenirs hidden under layers of clothing.

Charles struggled for a second but soon tried to relax, breathing through his nose. The sooner he got off Max, the sooner he could breathe properly again. He didn’t really have to do much, Max still had a hand in his hair, the Dutchman setting a rough rapid, pace.

Suddenly Max pulled Charles back. The Dutchman stared down at him, eyes cold. It made Charles’ skin crawl. “On the bed.” Max pulled him up by his shirt collar and flung him away.

Charles stumbled for a moment before regaining his footing. He stood there hesitantly. Trapped between the bed and Max. He half-considered running out the door. He liked sleeping with Max. It was fun. Hot. But now felt different. Cold. Impersonal.

Max was impatient. “I said, on the bed” He gave Charles a shove sending the Monegasque flat on the sheets.

Charles gripped the bed taking a few precious seconds to collect himself. Then Max was on him. All sharp nails and teeth. His clothing was half ripped half pulled off. A hand on his chest kept Charles pinned to the bed, Max straddling him. Normally the dominant demeanor of Max turned him on. Grounded him. But right now, it was suffocating.

“Suck” Max forced three fingers so far down his throat it caused him to retch. A knee to the gut forced a sad little yelp out of Charles. “Fine then. Suit yourself” Max pushed in dry, the Ferrari driver unbearable tight.

Charles cried out loudly his face twisted in pain. No preparation nothing. He knew he’d messed up on track but was it really worth this torture. “No. No. I’m sorry.” It burned. It hurt. It hurt terribly. “Je suis désolé” Tears trickled down his face. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

“See apologizing wasn’t so difficult now was it.” Max thrust a few times, teasing the man beneath him. It was kind of hot. Charles reduced to a begging mess. Face flushed, muscles tensing, hair in disarray. 

“Max. I can’t. Max. Max _STOP_.” Charles was basically sobbing now. He’d tried to stick it out. Suffer through. But even he had his limits.

“What’s the magic word.” It was cruel of him he knows but he could feel himself getting close. It wasn’t often he got the golden boy so submissive, almost broken.

“Please! Please! Max! S’il vous plait!” Charles was nearly hyperventilating. He wanted out. He wanted to run to Daniel and curl into the sunny Australians warm embrace. He wanted to be comforted and hugged and told stupid stories about Perth. But he wanted Max’s forgiveness too.

Max came with a groan, clamping a hand over Charles’ mouth. Then red mist that had descended, parted, and his stomach lurched when he looked down.

Charles was curled up into a ball, his shoulders shaking. The Dutchman lay a gentle hand and rolled him over so he could survey the damage. Charles didn’t resist, all the fire and spark drained out of him. Max found he missed that spark.

His fellow driver was covered in hand shaped bruises. His hand shaped bruises. One blossomed across his cheekbone, another around his wrists, another around his hip. Charles looked like an abused housewife. It made Max want to throw up.

“Charles. Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

Charles shook his head, refusing to look at Max. “Don’t apologize. I deserved it.”

Of course, he thought that. Max punched the bed in anger, causing Charles to jump. “I should have stopped earlier. I was just so angry. And I…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Charles pushed himself up against the head of the bed, his hands playing with the edge of a pillow. “We all make mistakes. I made one. You made one. We’re even.”

Max sometimes wondered what happened to Charles that gave him such a fucked-up martyr complex. The guy wore sorrow and grief better than his designer clothing. “That’s not how this works and you know it.”

Charles just shrugged. “I’m going to get cleaned up.” He slowly peeled himself off the bed, moving gingerly, obviously sore. 

Max watched him make his way to the bathroom, heart aching. Normally he would go join Charles, but he had a feeling the Ferrari driver wanted to be alone now. He couldn’t blame him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Charles returned, hair still dripping from the shower. He’d pulled his pants back on but hadn’t bothered to find a shirt. Max sat in silence as Charles rummaged around in the bag he’d abandoned on the floor. After a moment Charles pulled out a vaguely familiar sweatshirt. Grey with a yellow and purple logo. Max felt a slight surge of anger when he read the front.

Los Angeles Lakers.

That was Daniel’s sweatshirt. One of his favorites. And Charles looked too good, too comfortable in it. 

“Where’d you get that?”

Charles didn’t answer him. Max already knew the answer. Why should he bother?

“Answer me!” Max gestured towards the sweatshirt, hand flying out.

And Charles flinched.

Max snatched his hand away immediately, horrified. “Charles. I would never. You know I would n—”

“You already did” Charles voice was soft, almost morose.

Max couldn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. All the evidence needed was present on the Monegasque’s face. A purple bruise stood out garishly against Charles’ otherwise flawless skin. Like someone sprayed graffiti on marble statue. It felt criminal.

“Never again then. I swear Charles.”

The Monegasque gave him a wane smile. “Don’t worry about it. I just over reacted. You're fine. It's fine.”

It was most certainly not fine. They both knew that. But now wasn’t the time to have that conversation. They could bear to live with the toxicity a bit longer.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you later.” Charles turned away from Max, the sweatshirt mocking the Dutchman. He wanted to rip it off Charles. He also just wanted to hug Charles. But clearly neither was going to happen. Not after he broke what little trust remained between them. 

Charles phone rang, and his face lit up in a way Max rarely saw. It didn’t take much effort to guess who was calling. He could hear the muffled sound of Charles’ voice as the Ferrari driver exited the room.

“Bonjour Daniel. Yes. Yes I’m coming. Don’t worry I ….”

Max flopped down on his bed. He needed to pack and meet the team for the flight out. But all he really wanted to do was sleep. He turned over, prepared to take a nap and found himself with an eyeful of a bright red shirt. In his haste to leave, Charles had left his Ferrari team kit.

Max hurled the shirt across the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'm still not thrilled with this chapter but I've been making little changes for forever and it hasn't really improved. I wasn't originally planning on adding another one but I just felt like I wanted to get in Daniel's perspective. So yeah, ok. Just give it a read.

Daniel smiled as he got off the phone, shutting it off and shoving it back in his jeans pocket. He and Charles had planned to take the same flight back to Monaco, their plane due any minute. It was one perk of leaving Red Bull for Renault. Helmet would have blown a gasket if he found out about his close friendship with Charles. The man had despised how close Max and Daniel were as teammates. Cyril, on the other hand, just gave Daniel a sly smile whenever he saw him and Charles together in the paddock. Daniel had a feeling the man knew way more than he let on. The sneaky French bastard.

Daniel shuddered at the thought of what Helmut would have done if he’d gotten wind of his and Charles....adventures in Vegas if he’d still been at Red Bull. The Australian smiled when thinking back to that night. Remembering the feeling of a warm body pressed against his in a cocoon of thousand-count sheets, designer clothing strewn everywhere, littering the floor with scraps of Burberry and Gucci. 

Glancing down at his watch, Daniel frowned. Charles was supposed to have met him fifteen minutes ago. It was unlike him to be late. Always the gentleman, Charles. Polite and punctual. Daniel tried hard to reassure himself that nothing was wrong, but his stomach still felt like tiny kangaroos were hopping around. Suzuka always put him on edge. 

He was just about to call Charles again when he heard footsteps hurrying towards him. Looking up he was created with the sight of the young Monegasque jogging towards him. Daniel grinned. Charles was wearing his sweatshirt. And were those sunglasses he spotted under the hood? 

“Trying to avoid a mob of angry Max fans, mate?” Daniel joked, in high spirits now that Charles had arrived. 

Charles shifted awkwardly. Daniel had no idea how close to the truth he was. “Errr. Yeah,” he chuckled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. 

“Well the plane is here so you can lose your shitty attempt at a disguise.” Daniel reached out to pull Charles’ Ray Bans off, but the Monegasque shied away. 

“I’ve got a headache. They help,” Charles replied quickly, too quickly, at Daniel’s questioning look. It wasn’t a total lie. He did have a headache. But the light had nothing to do with it. 

Daniel frowned. Something was off about Charles. He just couldn’t place his finger on it. The Monegasque was tense, jumpy. “Well you can sleep on the flight back. That should help.”

There was a beat of silence as Charles stared at the floor and Daniel stared at Charles. “Alrighty then.” Daniel felt awkward, on the back foot. He couldn’t stand the quiet. Life should be filled with the sound of conversation, car engines, and music. “Let’s get out of this god damn hell hole, yeah?” 

Charles smiled at Daniel’s choice of phrase as they made their way down the gangway towards the plane. Ever the poet, Daniel. 

“We’re in for a serious case of jet lag when we get back.” It was true. The fly-away races were always rough on the sleep schedule. Charles normally tried to regulate his inner clock on the flights back, but his exhaustion was bone deep and no amount of will power could keep him up. 

“Ahh man. You’re right.” Daniel groaned as he ducked his head while entering the plane. He dropped his bag down on the floor before throwing himself into his seat, limbs splaying everywhere. Their plane was small, like the ones he and Max would take when he was at Red Bull. Just a few seats that were already pulled out to form the stiff airline beds he spent too much time in. 

Charles dropped into his seat with a bit more grace than Daniel. More elegant lynx and less over excited golden retriever. Carefully, Charles adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt before slipping off his sunglasses. He shoved them in their case before laying down, hoping to sleep till touchdown. No conversation. And hopefully, no dreams. Just the silent reprieve of sleep. 

Charles isn’t sure why he wakes up in the middle of the night, maybe it was jet lag, maybe it was the empty growling in his stomach. Whatever it was, he was certain he wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. Quietly so as not to wake Daniel, he dug around in his bag for his phone. Finding it, he settled back against his seat, not bothering to pull his hood back up in the dark.

Charles flicked mindlessly through his pictures for a while, smiling once he got to the ones from the trip to Vegas with Daniel. One photo after another of that fateful night slipped past his gaze. Charles fell into an easy rhythm of swiping, allowing his mind to wander back to as he played the excursion backwards. Swipe. There was Daniel still asleep during the morning after. Swipe. Blurry pictures from a car. Swipe. Silly pictures of the two of them holding alcohol Charles couldn’t remember drinking. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Shit. Suddenly, his phone started blaring sound. It was a video. A noisy one at that. 

Daniel groaned, a loud sound waking him up. Running a hand over his face he sat up, turning to check on Charles. As soon as he looked over, the Australian’s heart stopped 

Spreading across the Monegasque’s face was a large dark bruise. Charles was staring back at him, eyes wide, unblinking, his face harshly illuminated by his phone. Charles was frozen, the shallow, panicked breaths moving his chest, the only thing differentiating him from a statue. 

Charles,” Dan started cautiously, “You want to explain that?” The sunglasses. The hood. Yeah it made sense now. 

Charles shook his head, eyes leaving Daniel’s to stare at the sheets of the airline bed where his hands twisted nervously. 

Daniel sighed and got up to sit with Charles, taking a less direct approach. “Does it hurt?” He reached over and tilted Charles’ chin up, running a gentle thumb over the bruise. 

Charles hissed, pulling away. Yes, it hurt. What type of stupid question was that? Max had backhanded him across the face. And the dutchman’s upper body strength wasn’t exactly lacking. He should tell Daniel what happened. But Charles felt like he’d gone through a physical as well as emotional beating. To discuss it, well, it was like prodding a particularly sensitive bruise. Similar to the one currently decorating his cheekbone like some gaudy purple rouge. 

He wasn’t sure how much Daniel knew about his and Max’s past relationship. If you could even call it that. It’s not like they went on dates. Even though whatever he and Max was over, definitely over this time, he still didn’t want to hurt Max by straining his friendship with Daniel. 

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Daniel grabbed Charles, giving him a gentle tug back towards him, fingers easily wrapping around the Monegasque’s wrist. “What happened babe?” 

“Nothing really.” Charles voice wavered slightly, his mask of composure slipping at Daniel’s use of the pet name. 

“Mhhmmm really…” Daniel tried to keep his voice level and calm. Charles looked like if he could jump out the window and still live to race another day, he would. “Because after the race you were fine. And then you went to talk with Ferrari. And somehow I doubt they did that to you.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, the late—or was it early?—hour wearing his patience thin. “So who was it? Hmm? Because the last thing you told me was you needed to apologize, but you didn’t text me that until after Ferrari. So you either went to Merc or Red Bull. And Lewis likes you. So that means Red Bull….” Daniel trailed off, having fit most of the pieces together. “Charles.” The young driver, tensed, as if he could tell what was coming next. “Did you go see Max?”

“I messed up his race.” Charles sometimes hated how intuitive Daniel was. He really just wanted to curl up and pretend the whole weekend just hadn’t happened. Instead he got to deal with a well-meaning, nosy Australian. 

“So he messed up your face,” Daniel deadpanned. He liked Max, he really did. But he knew how Max could be after a bad race. “Because that’s fair...” Daniel did his best to suppress his anger. He had a feeling Charles had been on the receiving end of enough raised voices today. “Don’t even try to argue that,” Daniel cut Charles off when he opened his mouth. “Violence isn’t the answer. You know that.” 

“It was supposed to be over.” Charles voice was soft, shaky. “I just came over to apologize. And he wanted more. Like we used to.” His voice cracked. “And I didn’t really fight him. And…” Tears dripped slowly from his eyes. He tried to wipe them away harshly, but Daniel caught his hand and did it himself, the soft pad of the Australian’s thumb catching his teardrops like they were precious gems and not the sign of weakness Charles saw them as. 

Daniel pulled Charles into his arms, trying to comfort the Monegasque. He knew what Charles was trying to say. And God, how he wished he didn’t. “Just sleep kiddo.” Daniel ran his hand through Charles hair. In the oversized hoodie, lit only by the emergency lights of the airplane, the Ferrari driver looked so frighteningly young. So fragile. 

“He apologized you know,” Charles said, his voice thick with exhaustion. He let his eyes droop closed, head falling back against Daniel’s chest. 

“Mmmhmmm” Daniel murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead, while continuing to card fingers through Charles hair. “I’m sure he did, doll. I’m sure he did.” 

The steady breathing Daniel felt against his chest several minutes later let him know Charles had finally gone back to sleep.

The indigo shade of the bruise across Charles cheek was actually beautiful. An impressionist’s palette come to life. Because of course it was. Daniel hated it. He hated how pain and tragedy seemed to no longer phase the young Ferrari driver. 

Charles should have known better than to go see Max after a race. The dutchman really wasn’t a violent person. But Max never took DNFs well. Daniel had seen enough trashed rooms of his to know. And Charles really didn’t have much of a self-preservation instinct. Something they needed to have a talk about.

Daniel saw the way he drove his Ferrari. Charles put everything on the line for glory. 

Daniel took one last look at his watch—9 hours left on their flight—before allowing himself to close his eyes and draw the Monegasque in close, not dissimilar to how the two of them slept in Vegas. Just with a much different context.

Within minutes he was asleep, Charles still clutched in his arms, the clouds rushing by as their plane made its way into daylight, a brilliant sunrise outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too clunky. I'm kind of facing writers block so if anyone has suggestions or ideas for a fic or drabbles I'm all ears. Comment below xx Diana  
(special-formula on Tumblr)

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so that was dark. sorry. this is what happens when I write at like 3:00 in the morning and listen to sad music.


End file.
